Seta Moneta
by ExplodingWeekend
Summary: AU. Feliciano and Lovino have run the Caffe since their grandfather died. While they are excellent cooks, they are not so good with money. Now, with their business on the verge of collapse, some unexpected help will come.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This whole thing was inspired by a picture in my room that I only just realized reads 'Caffe Venezia'. One morning I suddenly thought, hey, I bet the Italies work there. But I bet they're horrible business owners. Maybe Germany could help out. And Spain probably really likes their food. And other random people come to their restaurant but Germany probably won't come even after he saves it.

And so I wrote this. Originally I had wanted it to be a continuous story but as of now it will have chapters.

(Title translates to 'Silk Money', which comes from an Italian children's song)

**Seta Moneta**

-1-

"FELI," a loud voice called from the kitchens. "Bring the damn food out NOW."

Feliciano Vargas wafted into the dimly lit dining area, two heaping plates of pasta balanced in his arms. He placed one on a table as he passed it, smiling at the young woman when she thanked him, and continued on his way towards the table at the back.

A young man sat back there, in the spot he always took when he came to eat at the Caffe Veneziano. As Feliciano approached, he recognized the shocking green eyes and floppy brown hair, though of course he already knew who sat there.

"Hello Antonio," Feliciano smiled, placing the other plate of pasta down. "Romano told me to make sure to give this one especially to you! I'm sure he made it extra yummy just for you!"

The Spaniard's smile wavered as he envisioned all the possible things that went into the pasta, but he decided to trust Romano, who seemed too cute to do anything truly evil, and boldly took a bite.

"It's delicious, Feli," he told the younger twin. Feliciano smiled and grabbed a pitcher of water, refilling Antonio's glass while he was there. He was about to leave when the Spaniard called him back.

"Feliciano," he said, before hesitating. Feliciano stood there anxiously, anticipating what was about to come.

"I don't mean to be rude… I'm just curious. You know I care very much about this place, and you and your brother as well. Still I can't help but wonder… is… something wrong?"

Feliciano giggled nervously. "No, of course not! Why would you say something like that?"

"Romano hasn't come out of the kitchen the past few times I've been here, and I know it can't be that he's angry with me. I couldn't help but notice you're down a few staff members…"

"Antonio!" Feliciano said quickly. "You're a customer; you don't need to worry about things like this! Just enjoy our food, _per favore_," the Italian said, before spinning around to head back to the kitchen.

Antonio reached a hand out to stop him, but thought better of it when he heard a sniffle come from the young twin. He watched Feliciano hurry back to the kitchen, ignoring two people who were simply asking for refills, and finished his dinner in silence.

Maybe he could talk to Romano next time…

_If there is a next time_, he thought bitterly.

"Lovi!" Feliciano cried once he was in the kitchen. He flung himself at his brother, ignoring the way Romano dropped the heavy wooden spoon into the saucepan, splattering them with bits of tomato sauce. When Feliciano looked up at his brother with tearful eyes, Romano gave him a quick squeeze before pushing him away.

"What happened, Veneziano?" He asked, reverting back to a nickname they had grown up using for the younger twin when people got them confused. It was for that same reason people called him Romano more often than they used his real name. "Was it Antonio?" he added hurriedly, already suspicious.

"No, no," Feliciano assured him. "Well, in a way…"

"_What_?"

"I-I think he knows. You know, about us and… about the… the restaurant."

"Oh Feli," Romano scrubbed a floury hand over his face, leaving tracks of white. "I told you, I'm taking care of it. I'll take care of you."

"But maybe he can help—"

"No!" Romano said quickly, too quickly, and the other cook looked sharply at the two brothers. Romano reddened (to his dismay, he was always teased about being as red as a tomato when he was embarrassed or angry). "I mean, what can he do?"

"I'll ask him," Feliciano said excitedly, the tears instantaneously gone from his eyes. Romano frowned.

"Okay but… wait a bit. I'll talk to him. Tomorrow."

_Or the day after that… or the day after that_.

Feliciano smiled up at him, thanked him, and promised him buckets of pasta and tomatoes. Romano could only smile back and worry about meeting up with that damn Spaniard.

That night had been a Tuesday, and it was not until Friday that Romano actually swallowed his pride and made his way over to the back table where Antonio always sat. He had hated the Spaniard the moment he first met him, when the jerk tried to trade Romano for his "cuter" brother as the waiter. Antonio had apologized profusely, swearing that it had been a joke, but Romano had simply countered with a bowl of pasta over the head.

That had been months ago, when they could still afford to lose customers by being rude (in Romano's case) or lazy (in Feliciano's case). Feliciano had yelled at him still, though.

They were both surprised when Antonio showed up two days later and ordered the same thing.

Since then, Antonio had been a regular customer. Really, Romano shouldn't have been surprised that he would notice the restaurant becoming more run-down of late.

They were going to have to tell him the restaurant was going out of business sooner or later.

Romano really had hoped it might be later.

"Ah, Romano!" Antonio's whole demeanor brightened when he saw the Italian pushing past noisy tourists, making his way to the back table. "Does this mean you're not going to make my pasta tonight? It always tastes better when you do…"

The Spaniard's mouth twisted into a straight line when he realized Romano was not looking like his normal grumpy self, but much gloomier. He patted the chair beside him and smiled lightly when Romano took the offer without arguing.

"Idiot, that's because I pour extra hate in when making yours. And spit, lots of spit too."

Antonio just laughed, much to Romano's dismay. He sobered up quickly, though. Romano would never sit with him unless something was wrong.

"What is the matter?" The Spaniard asked, legitimately curious. He had been worried about the restaurant—and about the twins—ever since he had noticed a significant decrease in the number of workers and the deep, darkening bags under both Romano and Feliciano's eyes.

"Let's get one thing straight," Romano said quickly. "I'm not coming to you for help. We were going to tell you eventually and this is just… a warning."

"What sort of warning?"

"You should…" Romano looked down and started to fiddle with the tablecloth. It was fine, as many things in the restaurant were; the twins were nothing without fine taste in both food and atmosphere.

Romano took a deep breath and started again. "You should probably find somewhere else to eat."

"Are… are you kicking me out?"

"N-No, but if it needs to come to that, it will." Romano threatened in a small voice. Antonio looked at him.

"I _can_ help you, Romano. I know someone whose brother is some kind of magic man with money… like, he's roommates with some Austrian guy who used to know some Swiss guy, who apparently taught him a lot about banking and stuff…"

"_And_?" Romano asked impatiently. Antonio laughed again.

"_And_ I can maybe ask him to come down here, help you get your finances in order…"

He had expected Romano to disagree outright. Instead, the Italian sat there for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face. "Do you really think that would help us?"

"Yeah, Romano," Antonio said, smiling. "I think it could save you."

They were closing up for the day when Romano told Feliciano about Antonio's idea. Feliciano didn't say anything for a while, which made Romano slightly worried. Despite his brainless appearance (though there were times when his brother truly did do stupid things), Feliciano cared very much for the restaurant and would take big decisions that concerned it very carefully.

"I think we should try it," he said finally. Romano shrugged.

"I wasn't asking for your permission, _stupido fratello_," he said. "I just… wanted to let you know."

Feliciano smiled at him, completely oblivious of Romano's _I-am-seriously-serious_ tone. "Okay then, _grazie_."

He picked up the box of leftover fish they always left out for stray cats and dogs and began to head in the direction of the alley next to the restaurant. Romano locked the door and tucked the keys safely into his pants pocket, watching Feliciano go.

Faintly, he heard his brother singing softly, an old folk song their grandfather used to sing to them.

_Seta Moneta  
le donne di Gaeta  
che filano la seta  
la seta e la bambagia  
bambini chi vi piace…_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Part Two.

Also, please review? It lets me know I'm doing something right. And a thank you to all those who reviewed the previous chapter!

Seta Moneta

-2-

When Ludwig first heard about the Caffe Veneziano, he couldn't help but feel as though his life was about to get really strange. When Gilbert had told him about the favor Antonio had called in, he hadn't really minded—after all, Antonio had never really bothered him, unlike that weird French guy.

So he had called Kiku—his business partner—and asked if the man would want to accompany him to Italy. There was probably no need to call the Japanese man at all, but it was better to have the company, for all that both of them were so quiet.

Besides, Kiku had been to Italy before. He was apparently a great fan of the art and culture Italy provided, and was as ecstatic as he had ever sounded when he replied to Ludwig's invitation.

But now, the hotel room Ludwig was staying in was beginning to feel stuffy, and Kiku was off at some art display, leaving him on his own. The German decided that it would be a good idea to take a walk, maybe learn what he could about the area.

And so here he was, aimlessly roaming the streets of Italy. It was refreshing, to say the least, and very beautiful. But it was very different from his homeland Germany, and to Ludwig, different did not always mean exciting. He thought his country was beautiful enough in its own way.

Ludwig stopped to read a sign—what looked like a menu—that was in Italian, testing out the limited vocabulary he had crammed into his mind on the airplane trip over. He was just deciphering the first sentence when he heard someone singing. This was not really that new—he had seen quite a few street musicians on his walk from the hotel to here, wherever 'here' was. But this man—he thought it was a man's voice—who was singing sounded different, for some reason, and the sound was coming from an alleyway.

Ludwig grew curious and looked around the corner. Indeed, there was a man there, sweeping up some type of spill—it looked like a bag of grain had tipped over—and singing. The song was soft, and childish in a way.

Frantically, he tried to think of the word for hello in Italian. "_B-Buon giorno_," he said. The man startled, and tripped backwards, into an open (but thankfully empty) crate of tomatoes.

"Ve," he said, starting to laugh. "You scared me!"

Ludwig was glad to hear English, as he wasn't sure how to say sorry yet in Italian. "My apologies," he said in English instead, helping the man out of the crate. The Italian was shorter, but not by much, with a round face and scraggly brown hair. One strand rose up from the top of his head and curled.

"It's alright," the man said, brushing himself off and picking up the broom. "It's just… you said good morning, and I had thought it was afternoon, and wondered just how long I had been out here!"

Ludwig looked shamefaced. "I'm sorry, my Italian is not that… good. I mean, I'm new here… to this country, and… er…"

"Ve, a tourist? That's so exciting! Where are you from? Do you love Italy or do you love it?"

Ludwig wasn't sure where to start. "Er, I'm from Germany, um, yes, Italy is a very beautiful country?"

"Do you like pasta?" The Italian paused for a moment and smiled. "I don't even know your name! Mine's Feliciano! Feliciano Vargas!"

The name struck a chord in the German. "Oh," he said. "I think I was supposed to be looking for you."

That confused the Italian slightly, although the silly grin remained on his face. "Ve, looking for me? What does that mean?"

"Uh, sorry, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Ludwig, the one who is supposed to be helping you save your business."

Feliciano's face lit up in recognition. "Really? Wow, I was expecting some old guy in a suit!"

Ludwig looked down at the tie and jacket he wore. "Yes, well…"

"Never mind, I'm sure you want to come and take a look inside, right?"

"Er, that would be… yes."

Feliciano led the German through a side door that opened to the kitchens. The restaurant was open; it had to be so they could bring in all the customers they could get. Romano and the other cook, a grumpy old man (who made excellent tiramisu) named Alonzo, were there working.

"Romano!" Feliciano cried upon seeing his brother. "Look who came!"

Romano turned from where he was stirring the alfredo sauce and glared at Ludwig. "Who's this?"

"This is Ludwig, the guy who's gonna help us. He said so himself!"

Ludwig didn't really remember saying anything to that extent, but he waved a polite hello to the other Italians anyways. Romano continued to glare, although there was significantly less fire behind it this time.

"Oh, well… show him around the restaurant then. Let him decide for himself whether we're a hopeless cause or not."

"Ve, alright!"

Ludwig was then pulled to through the swing doors and into the dining area, where four or five people sat enjoying a mid-morning brunch. They all smiled politely when they saw Feliciano come through the doors, glanced warily at the large man beside him, and returned to eating. Ludwig assumed they were regulars.

Feliciano clearly wanted to talk to a few of them, but he also looked determined to stay on task, and he led Ludwig to the front of the restaurant, where a nervous middle-aged woman was waiting to seat people.

"Hello, Maria. This is Ludwig, he's helping our restaurant!" She looked confused, and Feliciano repeated the same thing—or at least what Ludwig assumed was the same thing—in Italian to her.

Maria's made-up eyes widened when she looked up at Ludwig, and she glanced back down nervously at the menus.

"Maria and Alonzo are the only people still with us," Feliciano explained. "We're very lucky to have them."

"Yes, you are," Ludwig nodded sagely. "But who waits the tables?"

"Ah, that's me!" Feliciano said excitedly. "And Romano, sometimes, but he usually likes to stay in the kitchen. I'm better with people."

Ludwig knew that he probably didn't know Feliciano's brother that much but felt that he could agree with that statement. Feliciano seemed to radiate friendliness and approachability. Ludwig was glad that he would be working with him, despite the peculiarity—he had seen a lot of different people on this job, but Feliciano was refreshing.

"Come on," Feliciano continued, tugging on Ludwig's forearm. "I'll show you the front!"

Ludwig allowed himself to be pulled through another set of doors. Glancing back, he thought he saw a smile flicker across Maria's face. She was probably used to her boss's strange antics by now, he thought, though he was unsure if he would ever get used to being… touched so much. It was unnerving—most people were frightened by his large looks, serious demeanor, and general aura of getting-down-to-business. Besides, he drank a lot, though of course he never did that in front of clients.

The front of the store was indeed very nice. The windows were spotless, and inviting in that you could see the customers clearly enjoying themselves. A menu—the one Ludwig had been reading earlier—was painted onto a green chalkboard, and the restaurant's name was hung above the door. Ludwig saw nothing wrong with it.

"Ve, what are you thinking about?" Feliciano said after a while.

"I'm thinking about how I can help you. You seem to be doing everything right."

"That's good!" Feliciano exclaimed. Then, his face fell. "But we're clearly doing something wrong. Business used to be so good, and we didn't really have to worry about anything. But now… I look at money differently, I think. It's not that we used to be… what's the word?"

"Frivolous?" Ludwig guessed. That was usually a recurring theme he saw in his clients who used to have a lot of money and suddenly found they were struggling just for pennies.

"Ve, but we weren't! We cared about money, but we didn't stress over it." He hesitated. "I'd like to thank you for doing this. I don't know if you can help us—Romano thinks it's a hopeless case—but I still think you're very brave to help people… like us."

Ludwig smiled. "I've often found that the people in these situations are those who least deserve it. Of course I want to help them."

Feliciano smiled back, but there was something behind it that made Ludwig slightly nervous. "That's nice," he said.

They stood in silence for a moment more, staring at different things, when suddenly Feliciano started to hum. Ludwig recognized it.

"You were singing that earlier," he said. Feliciano turned to him and nodded.

"My grandfather used to sing it to me and Romano when we were little. It's called Seta Moneta—'silk money'."

"It's sounds beautiful. What does it mean?"

"Do you know," Feliciano said. "I don't think it means anything."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Part Three.

Please review!

Seta Moneta

-3-

"Do you like pasta?" Feliciano said. "I love pasta, it's my favorite thing. Possibly in the world."

They were sitting at a table in one corner, away from most of the customers. Romano had handed Ludwig a manila folder, complete with the glare, the moment they were back inside. It was filled with the brothers' bills from the past year or so, and Ludwig was currently checking it over to make sure there were no discrepancies.

The brothers were very responsible, for all that their appearances misled. They seemed to put the restaurant before themselves, buying ingredients and paying salaries before thinking of the necessities that they needed. Their only downfall was probably their taste in clothing—both brothers seemed to lean towards the more expensive clothes on the spectrum.

"Our grandfather always dressed us nicely," Feliciano explained. "I guess we just got used to it. We haven't been shopping in a while though, not since we started to…" he trailed off, but Ludwig got the gist of it. It was all laid out in writing in front of him.

Suddenly, his cell phone went off. He recognized the name on the caller ID and answered it.

"Hello," he said, holding up one finger to Feliciano to tell him to be patient.

"Hello, Mr. Ludwig," Kiku said on the other end. "I am at the hotel now but you were not in your room. Might I inquire where you are?"

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. I went for a walk and ended up running into our client. I'm down at the restaurant if you want to come by; the address is on my bureau I think…"

"Alright, I will be right over with the paperwork." There was a _click_ as the call disconnected and Ludwig sighed. He had forgotten that both brothers needed to sign some papers before he could officially start working for them.

"Who was that?" Feliciano asked curiously.

"My business partner, Kiku Honda. He's been enjoying your country all day; he's quite enamored of it."

"Ve, that's good!" Feliciano leaned forward, resting on his elbows. "What about you? Do you like Italy?"

"Its… its nice, but I find that my home suits me quite well."

"I've been up there before, in Austria. I'm afraid it doesn't suit me at all."

Ludwig laughed a little at that—a brief chuckle. It really was hard to picture Feliciano up there.

Kiku arrived at the restaurant not half an hour later. Ludwig presumed that he had taken a taxi or one of those motorcycle things that were everywhere (though he really couldn't see the Japanese man on one of those things).

Ludwig introduced Kiku to Feliciano and vice versa, and it was very clear that the two would be good friends, as they seemed to share interest in quite a few things. When Feliciano moved to go make pasta for the three of them, however, both Kiku and Ludwig stopped him.

"Mr. Vargas, I would like to ask you to sign some papers for us, before we get started working for you."

"Oh, sure!" Feliciano took the papers that were handed to him and signed them each with in big curly letters.

Ludwig took one of the papers and peered at the signature. "F V V? What does the first 'V' stand for?"

"Ah, that's a nickname that my grandfather gave me. 'Veneziano'."

"Like the Caffe?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, he named it after me. Or me after the Caffe, I suppose… I'm not sure which of us came first."

"You seemed to have been very close to your grandfather if he did all that for you. What about your brother?" Kiku asked, ever polite.

Feliciano looked hesitant. "Romano—that is, Lovino, his real name—he didn't spend a lot of time with me and my grandfather. He was jealous of me—that's what my grandfather said, anyway—and didn't get along with a lot of people. We grew closer after Grandpa died but… I never changed the sign."

Ludwig cautioned a glance to the kitchens where he knew Romano was. Sure, Feliciano was far more outgoing than his twin, but would a grandfather really choose one grandson over the other?

He thought about his own grandfather and how Gilbert had gotten to spend more time with him than Ludwig had. He'd never held it against his brother, and he'd been able to get closer to his grandfather later on.

"If you'll excuse me, I will take these papers to your brother to get his signature." Kiku excused himself from the table and headed for the kitchens, leaving Ludwig alone with Feliciano.

"I know what you're thinking," Feliciano said. "But my grandfather was not a cold man. He loved Romano; it was Romano who could not seem to love him."

Ludwig opened his mouth to reply, even though he wasn't sure what he was going to say, when a loud and heavily accented voice interrupted.

"What's this about Romano? Did something happen to him?"

They both looked up at the new figure, a tall Spanish man. Ludwig recognized him as Gilbert's friend, Antonio. He was looking rather worried.

"Ve, Antonio, _fratello_ is fine. We were just talking about… something else."

Antonio glanced over at Ludwig and smiled. "Ludwig! Wow, you're so grown up now! The last time I saw you—"

"I'm really not that much younger than you, you know," Ludwig interrupted. He'd tenuously grown up around Antonio because of Gilbert, and the man seemed to love to reminisce.

"Ve, you know Antonio, Ludwig?"

"Yes, he was the one who called in the favor to my brother."

"Well I know that Vash would have trained you well. How is Gilbert by the way? Still pining after Elizabeta?"

Ludwig clucked and shook his head. His brother's obsession with himself was rivaled by an obsession with only one other person—and that person was already married. Ludwig was kind of glad that he was able to get away from the house for a while—Gilbert got demanding when he was depressed.

"Francis is looking after him currently, unless, of course, he's off gallivanting somewhere… or with someone."

"Hmm, Francis in Germany? And he said he didn't like the German women." Antonio moved to take a chair, but seemed to change his mind at the last moment. "It must have taken a while to convince him to go there."

"I think that Canadian he knows—that loud American's brother?—said something about wanting to go there."

Antonio nodded as if that explained something, though Ludwig was sure he'd never understand what. He never liked to delve too deeply into the antics of the Bad Trio. "Well," the Spaniard said. "If you'll excuse me I'd like to go see Romano."

Feliciano smiled and waved after him. Ludwig just held his fingers up to his temples and began to rub them in smooth circles. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten a headache just thinking about his brother.

"Ve, so you have a brother then? Just like me!"

"Oh, yeah, his name is Gilbert. He's older than me, but that doesn't seem to make him more mature."

"_Si_, I know what you mean. Romano is older by two whole minutes but…" Feliciano smiled softly. "I still worry. He promised that he'd be the one to take care of things after Grandpa died but I know that he's taking things badly. Like the restaurant… closing."

Ludwig began to pack up some papers into the manila folder. He wished he had his briefcase, but then again this whole meeting had been spur-of-the-moment.

"Ve, are you leaving already?"

Ludwig glanced at his watch. It was three o' clock, and he had checked just that morning to make sure it was set to the right time. He'd been there for at least two hours.

"Yes, but I'll be back tomorrow—"

"Oh, good!" Feliciano said. "Are you sure you don't want to stay and eat?"

"No thank you, I don't really like pasta all that much."

Feliciano's smile faltered, but only for a moment. "Then I'll just have to make it really yummy so you start to like it!"

Ludwig couldn't help it—he smiled back. "Maybe tomorrow."

"For breakfast, then!"

Ludwig winced inwardly at the idea of pasta for breakfast, but didn't comment. He scanned over the restaurant once more and saw Kiku motioning for the door. He nodded once to his partner and turned back to Feliciano.

"It looks like business has picked up a little," he said, and maybe that was a twinge of hope in his voice.

Feliciano shrugged. "It's funny, how restaurants work. There always seems to be an empty table, even at the best restaurant." He seemed to be pointedly ignoring that there were nine or ten empty tables.

Ludwig did the same, saying a quick good bye and heading for the door. Then he was outside in the mid-afternoon Italian sun, Kiku flagging down a taxi and saying some kind of warning about how fast Italians drive.

And Ludwig made a promise, right there outside the Caffe Veneziano. Favor or not, he would help the Vargas brothers. He would help Feliciano make sure that there were no empty tables anymore—not one.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Part Four. I've decided that I really enjoy writing Gilbert; if I could do a oneshot about him one day, I totally would.

Please Review?

Seta Moneta

-4-

A week later and Ludwig found himself sitting at the same table he had been at on that first day. He ran a hand tiredly across his face.

He was failing.

It was hard to admit it, but he knew it was true. It was impossible; there was nothing wrong with the way Feliciano and Lovino spent money, but for some reason they just kept losing. It frustrated Ludwig to no end.

Kiku wasn't much better off. He thrived on efficiency and despaired over failure, and the looming prospect of the latter was taking its toll on him. Whenever he could get away from pouring over the bills of the restaurant, he would escape to art museums or other sites. Feliciano would try to accompany him sometimes—and try to drag Ludwig along too—but the fact of the matter was that they were both simply too busy.

Everyone was tired. Whatever free time Feliciano and Romano could find—in the few hours when their restaurant was closed—they spent sleeping. Ludwig had tried to leave the restaurant by five every afternoon at first, but he soon found himself returning to the hotel later and later. Usually the people he worked for weren't in such a dire situation, and had time to go over the forms with him. In this case, Ludwig had to try to fill out whatever he could and then pester an obliging Feliciano or cranky Romano for a signature towards the later hours of the day.

It was difficult to run a business… Ludwig had seen enough bankruptcies and failures to understand that. But the Vargas brothers—or their grandfather, at least, who had opened the restaurant—seemed to know a thing or two. They had an ideal location, adequate-at-worst service, and excellent food. But something was drastically wrong, and if Ludwig didn't figure out what, he would have only bad news to break to Feliciano.

The thought of how sad Feliciano would be over losing his restaurant drove him to try everything. He did not want to cause the Italian pain—and frankly, he wasn't too convinced that Romano didn't have connections to the mafia—and so he put more hours in, called Kiku for advice more often than either of them would have liked, and even sent an e-mail to Vash.

Vash was a banker from Switzerland who knew a lot about money and how it should be dealt with. He had been childhood friends with Roderich—Ludwig's college roommate and later real-life roommate (until he got married, of course, and _that_ was a story Ludwig didn't want to go into; he was supposed to be on break from Gilbert's whining)—and when he had visited over a spring break and flaunted his knowledge, Ludwig had immediately wanted in. It made him feel powerful; to be so in control of other people's spending. He was always responsible, of course, and he would never take advantage—it's just that he liked the feeling of knowing what was going on.

This was probably why the mystery here was bugging him so much. He would give anything—even sell his soul to the devil, if he hadn't already done that at some point in his life—just to have some sliver of a clue as to what was happening.

His prayers (or deal making) were answered soon enough, as it were. It was late one night—so late that Feliciano had already sent Maria and Alfonso home and was waving goodbye to the last few stragglers, a very drunk group of couples. Ludwig felt his stomach rumble, alerting him that he hadn't had anything to eat in the past few hours save a few crackers at noon. He sighed and closed the book on accounting he had not read since college—for this was how desperate he had become—and headed for the kitchens.

He was about to enter the kitchens when he heard a voice—Romano's—coming from inside. He was speaking loudly, but not in his usual, angry voice. This one held a small tremble—fear? nervousness?—and because there were no other voices, Ludwig assumed he was on the phone.

"I trust Maria, it's just… I don't know how else to explain it," Romano sighed. "He's been here so long; Grandpa hired him. I don't want to be wrong. Yes." There was a long pause. "No, I understand. No, no, don't come over here. I'm fine; Feliciano and the potato guy are here. Yes, Ludwig." Another long sigh, this one with a tinge of annoyance. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, seeing as you can never leave me alone… Thanks, Antonio."

Romano made a sound like he had slammed the phone against its holder. Then there was a clacking noise—and the door was flung open. Ludwig jumped back and almost fell as Romano slammed into his chest.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" Romano demanded loudly. Ludwig saw Feliciano heading over to their aid from the corner of his eye.

"Er, I was just going to get something to eat…"

"Oh, are you hungry?" Feliciano asked, latching on to his arm. Ludwig nudged him off gently.

"I'm fine, really, I should be going anyway…"

"That's right, you should!" Romano said, heading back into the kitchen and scrubbing angrily at his face. The doors clacked shut behind him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Feliciano asked again, leading him over to an empty table. It hadn't been cleared yet and there were a few wine glasses and bread baskets scattered randomly over the tablecloth.

"_Ja_, but what about you?"

"Ve, me?" Feliciano looked himself over. "I'm fine, why?"

"_Nein, nein_," Ludwig shook himself. When he was stressed he occasionally switched back to German—it was so much simpler to express his frustrations in his native language. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Feliciano paused and then laughed nervously. "No, of course not! I want to save the restaurant, why would I…"

He trailed off and began to shake his head slowly. "There… there is something. Last month, there was a break-in… nothing too serious as far as property damage, and thankfully no one was here to get hurt. But a lot of money was taken. The police caught the guy and we got it all back but… Romano and I knew something was wrong."

"What?"

"Ve, we just don't know. It just feels weird, and every now and then we'll misplace a small amount—ten dollars here, five there, nothing over thirty—and we won't find it again. We're not usually so careless…"

Ludwig reached over hesitantly and patted Feliciano on the forearm in what he hoped would be a reassuring gesture.

"Something is definitely wrong here, and once we figure it out, a lot of questions will be answered." Ludwig hesitated. "I heard your brother mention Maria over the phone…"

Feliciano looked at Ludwig. "We think that maybe there's someone on the inside. Maria and Alfonso are both so great, we can't go accusing them. But… It's the only way it begins to make sense."

Ludwig agreed with him. Maria had seemed so nice, but Alfonso on the other hand… Ludwig did not have the bias that Feliciano and Romano had for the grandfather's friend, and Alfonso had seemed suspicious from the moment he met him. He was even crankier than Romano on a bad day, and even the latter reserved some kindness for customers and his brother.

Ludwig had the sinking suspicion this was more sinister than he had ever believed, but at least now he had some handle on things. Ludwig removed his hand from Feliciano's arm.

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll figure this out."

Feliciano sighed but smiled at him, and Ludwig smiled back despite the buzz of anxiety crawling under his skin.

He was going to have to call in more help. Help that he didn't exactly feel like speaking to right now.

But Gilbert had seen his fair share of action (he sure bragged about it a lot) and if anyone could spot a rat from a mile away, it was him.

When Ludwig returned to the hotel room, he pulled out his phone and dialed Gilbert's number.

"Yo, baby brother," was the first thing Gilbert said. At least he was sober; he had read the caller ID, and when he was drunk he couldn't read anything.

"Where are you?" Ludwig asked.

"Home." Ludwig could tell he was lying. Most likely, he was harassing Roderich at the music store he worked at; Ludwig could hear someone tuning a piano in the background.

"Leave Roderich alone," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "_Mein Gott_, if Elizabeta is there…"

"Nah, she's… somewhere else. It's just me and Beethoven over here."

Ludwig heard Roderich mumble something that was most likely a blow to Gilbert's relationship status (or lack thereof), though he prayed it wasn't. He started to talk before Gilbert could retaliate; if there was one thing Ludwig undoubtedly knew, it was the Roderich was a pacifist… until it came to his brother.

"Listen, I'm in Italy—"

"I know that."

He probably hadn't. Ludwig continued, "You know, Antonio called in the favor…"

"Yeah, yeah, go on."

"Well, it turns out that there may be someone stealing money from the restaurant, and I need your… expertise."

"You need my help."

"_Nein_, I need _advice_."

Ludwig quickly filled him in on the situation. Halfway through, the sound of the piano became much more defined and Ludwig realized Gilbert had put the call on speaker. This was confirmed when Roderich spoke up first.

"I don't like the sound of that cook. It's always the one you least expect."

"But wouldn't that be that lady, in this case? No one expects the ladies…"

"So you think Maria is behind it?" Ludwig asked his brother.

"Nah, I think this Alfredo guy is kinda sleazy. Has he done or said anything weird?"

"I'll keep an eye out." A thought suddenly occurred to Ludwig, and he sighed. "Where's Francis, I thought he was supposed to be keeping you out of trouble."

"He went back to France yesterday, and then he's skipping down to visit Arthur. I think Alfred's there too." Gilbert informed Ludwig. He sounded pleased that he had so much independence now.

"Fine. Leave Roderich alone, and don't go within two miles of Elizabeta or she'll probably call the police—again—and I don't want to waste money on bail, and you ruined my good suit two weeks ago when you put it in the _oven_ for some ungodly reason—"

"He did what?" Roderich asked in the background, and there was a sound of piano keys being slammed down roughly. "Stay away from that keyboard, you miscreant…"

"I'll be good, bro, you have fun in Italy," Gilbert said, sounding surprisingly calm despite Roderich's increasingly frantic shouts of protest as the piano keys produced more strained notes. Ludwig moved to disconnect the call when Gilbert said something that made him pause.

"Hey, bro, you're coming back, right?"

"Of course," Ludwig said.

"It's just… you sound happy. It sounds like Italy's being good to you. I like it."

Gilbert was the one who hung up first, leaving Ludwig alone in the hotel room, mulling the truth of that statement over in his head.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Part… Five? Yeah.

So much drama in this chapter…

Seta Moneta

-5-

Ludwig did just as his brother suggested he do— he waited and he watched. He observed the comings and goings of the customers of the Caffe Veneziano in search of anything suspicious.

On the third day, Romano asked him (in not too many words) to stop doing so.

"You're scaring the customers away. We've gotten complaints about some foreign-looking guy staring people down, and we figured it was you."

"Ve, I don't think you're scary, Ludwig!" Feliciano said. Ludwig gave him a tight smile.

"It's okay, I'll get back to work. I just tend to… doze off sometimes."

Romano scoffed but left it at that, choosing instead to return to the kitchens. As he pushed past the swing doors, Ludwig leaned forward a little to see if he could catch a glance of the elusive Alfonso.

"Are you still looking for 'suspicious characters'" Feliciano asked, doing air quotes at the words that Ludwig had told him in the first place. The German gave a nod.

"Do you know anything about Alfonso that may be connected to the robbery, Feliciano?" he asked suddenly.

"No, just that he used to be friends with Grandpa in the ma— at Grandpa's old job."

Ludwig glanced over and saw Feliciano fidgeting nervously. He was about to open his mouth once more when the door to the restaurant opened and Antonio stepped inside.

"_Hola_, _mi amigos_," he exclaimed, slinking over to the table that Ludwig had claimed as his own for the past two weeks. Feliciano greeted him in return, while Ludwig simply nodded an acknowledgement.

"I just got off the phone with your brother, Ludwig. He told me about you theory."

Ludwig groaned. He was actually surprised that Gilbert had kept his mouth shut for longer than forty-eight hours.

"I just want to say, I will support you any way I can," Antonio continued, looking just like a determined Spanish revolutionary. "If someone here is putting Lovino in danger, I want to see them caught! You should be safe too, of course, Feli," he ruffled the Italian's hair, "but I think Ludwig would do a good job looking out for you."

Ludwig sighed. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Antonio? Someone to bother?"

"Of course," Antonio snapped his fingers. "I have to go say hello to Lovi." Before he left he reached down and brought out a brown paper bag, handing it over to Ludwig. "Give this to your brother next time you see him."

Ludwig just grunted in reply and set the bag down next to him. From the weight of it, it was probably some fancy wine. Now he had to worry about smuggling that through the airport.

"Ve," Feliciano said quietly, interrupting Ludwig's train of thought. The German looked over at him. "Is this truly dangerous?"

Ludwig's eyes flashed. "You tell me."

"I—" Feliciano stopped, looking sad. "Romano doesn't want me to tell you."

"You shouldn't let your brother tell you what to do."

Feliciano stood up from the table suddenly. "I don't want to tell you."

"Why? I'm trying to help you, Feliciano, but I can't do that if you're keeping secrets…"

"It's nothing!" Feliciano blurted out, looking close to tears. He placed a sweaty palm over the back of Ludwig's hand, the one that was resting on the top of the table. "I would tell you if I thought it was safe, but—"

"If you're involved in it—"

"I'm not, don't worry," the Italian said quietly. He moved a little back from the table, but Ludwig flipped his hand over and grabbed onto the Italian's to stop him.

"Does Antonio know?"

"What do you think?" This was a different voice, and Ludwig saw Romano seemingly materialize behind his brother. Feliciano yanked his hand away from the German's.

"_Fratello_, where…?"

"He left. And I suggest you do the same," Romano said, looking pointedly at Ludwig. "Forget everything you heard. Forget us. Don't come back."

He practically threw a wad of cash at Ludwig, who fumbled to catch it.

"That should be enough. Don't come back here saying we owe you money, it won't work."

Ludwig opened his mouth to protest, but he saw Romano's hand shaking as he reached for Feliciano, who just looked confused and maybe a little sad… frantic? Ludwig shook his head and headed for the door.

"Ludwig, don't go, we still need you!" He said, pulling away from Romano to rush to Ludwig. Romano looked hurt but didn't go after his brother.

"No, it's okay," Ludwig sighed. "I was failing you anyway. There are probably better accountants out there—"

"But I thought we were friends!" Feliciano cried. "You still haven't had any of my pasta!"

"I'm sorry," Ludwig said, and he realized he truly did mean it. Then he turned and walked out of the Caffe Veneziano.

He was not even five paces away from it when he found Antonio, slouched against a neighboring building. Antonio looked up at him with surprised brown eyes, looking very much like a lost dog.

"You too?" He said. All Ludwig could do was nod.

Antonio sighed. "I asked you to help them," he said.

"I know. I wanted to."

"Romano was scared, I could tell," the Spaniard continued. "Something is wrong."

"I know."

"Well, what are we going to do?"

Ludwig thought for a moment. Never in a million years would he think his life would turn out like this, joining forces with one of _Gilbert's_ friends to help someone he had only met a month ago. But he really did like Feliciano, even though the other man was so quirky. It made him want to protect him.

"I don't know," Ludwig said. "I think I might just go back to the hotel, talk to Kiku, and then—"

He was cut off by a sudden punch to the jaw. It wasn't that violent, but it still made him stagger back in surprise.

"_Lo siento_," said the Spaniard. "But I'm not going to wait around while Romano and Feliciano are in danger. Now will you help me save them or not?"

"I… yes," Ludwig said, rubbing the growing bruise on his cheek absentmindedly. "But I had always planned to, if you would have just let me finish…"

Antonio laughed, and Ludwig wondered how he had not realized how mad this man was before.

But then again, he _was_ friends with Gilbert and that Frenchy. And Ludwig had always thought Antonio was the most normal out of all of them.

"_Vamos_, we may not have that much time," Antonio said. "Who was it that you were suspicious of, again?"

Ludwig was about to speak when movement caught his eye and he advanced to the opening of the alleyway, the same one he had met Feliciano in.

It was dark, but he could still make out three figures, one of them obviously brandishing a weapon. The two smaller figures cowered together, and Ludwig's heart froze when he realized there was only a small possibility that they were not who he knew they were.

The larger figure pushed the two others into a van and then got in on the driver's side. Ludwig turned back onto the sidewalk just as the van sped out of the alleyway and onto the street.

"_Dios mio_, what just happened?" Antonio asked, his voice a little frantic. Ludwig tried to calm his heart but found he couldn't, and instead spun to face Antonio.

"Do you have a car?" He asked.

Antonio did not have a car. He had something that was quite possibly the most dangerous thing Ludwig had ever laid eyes on, and he had grown up with a grandfather who was a weapons connoisseur.

It was a motorcycle, and it would easily catch up to the van, and it could comfortable carry two people, but for some reason Ludwig could not force himself onto it.

"Come on," Antonio said, passing him a sleek black helmet. "They're getting away."

Ludwig resigned himself to his fate, comforted by the fact that if he died in the fiery crash that was looming in the very near future, at least he might get props for trying to save someone from a kidnapping if he made it to heaven.

He shakily placed the helmet over and swung a leg over the bike, looping his arms tentatively around Antonio.

With any luck, they could catch up to the bad guys and steal their van for the return trip. Oh, how Ludwig wished that would be the case.

"Hold on," Antonio said, as if Ludwig wasn't already crushing his rib cage in anticipation. "Now let's go save our friends."

Ludwig probably would have said something encouraging but he had already clamped his mouth shut to avoid screaming when Antonio pulled out into traffic.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Final chapter, but there will be an epilogue up soon. Thank you so much, please continue to review!

And I had tried to add Kiku in so much more; he hasn't gotten enough love in this. Please don't forget about him!

Seta Moneta

-6-

The van finally pulled to a stop in front of a warehouse that looked quite abandoned. Antonio cut the engine of the bike far enough away that they could still see what was happening.

Ludwig got to his feet shakily and pulled out his cell phone, thanking whatever deity was looking out for him that he had reception. He first checked the GPS to find out exactly where they were before quickly dialing Kiku's number.

"Mr. Ludwig!" Kiku sounded surprised. "Where have you been? I stopped by the restaurant but no one was there."

"Feliciano and Romano were taken by Alfonso," Ludwig rambled. "At least I think that's what happened. Anyways, Antonio and I followed them to some warehouse…" he relayed what the GPS had showed him. "Do you think you can call the police?"

"Of course," Kiku said, still maintaining a calm tone somehow. "I'll be right over with them. Do not do anything rash."

"Sure, sure," Ludwig said. "See you soon." He hung up and sighed.

"The police should be here soon, we just have to wait a bit."

"They'll never get here fast enough." Antonio swore in Spanish, but Ludwig could pretty much guess what he said, as something similar seemed to be going around in his own head.

He grabbed Antonio's arm just in time to stop the Spaniard from standing up and presumable running into the warehouse, guns a-blazing.

Speaking of which…

"You can't just go in there, especially unarmed!" Ludwig protested, pulling Antonio back to a crouching position behind the bike.

The Spaniard surprised him by reaching behind his back and pulling out a gun, clicking the safety off. Ludwig couldn't help but gape a little bit.

"W-Where did you say you worked again?" Ludwig asked.

"I didn't," Antonio said. "But I'll tell you now. I'm a PI, and the police hired me to check out the Caffe a few months ago. They suspected someone at the restaurant of handing money over to the mafia, money that should have rightfully gone to the restaurant. The food and the company, well, that was an added bonus." Antonio smiled. "Thanks for going this far with me, Ludwig, but I'll take it from here."

"No way! Feliciano's my friend too, and you need backup." There was no way one of Gilbert's friends should be trusted with a firearm, either.

Antonio sighed. "You're just as stubborn as Gil sometimes. If you can hold your own, you can come with."

"I resent that," Ludwig scowled. He shook the comment off, however; he had bigger things to worry about. "Okay, let's go."

They slunk over to the main doors of the warehouse, a feat that proved surprisingly easy. In fact, there were no voices coming from inside either—it was all disturbingly quiet.

Antonio motioned some strange sign to Ludwig—something that the German translated as 'I'll take a look inside'. This was correct, apparently, for less than a second later Antonio swung his head around to peek in the open door. Almost immediately, a gunshot was heard.

"_Maldito_," Antonio swore, swinging his head back quickly. He raised the gun near his face and took a deep breath, nodding once to the German. All Ludwig could do was shake his head frantically, trying to tell him not to go.

But the crazy Spaniard didn't listen; instead, he grinned wildly and stepped into the warehouse. Ludwig tried to move his muscles to follow, but found that he couldn't. All he could do was stand and listen to the gunshots.

Then he heard a muffled scream—which he registered as Feliciano, or maybe it was Romano, but it sounded more afraid than angry—and all of Ludwig's muscles shot to attention. He threw his body into the warehouse, ducking on reflex, only to discover that no one was shooting anymore.

Two bodies were on the ground; the twins were bound and huddling together in the center of it all. Antonio was hurrying to untie them, but there was—blood.

"What happened?" Ludwig asked, perhaps a little frantically. He ran over to Antonio and the twins, pushing the Spaniard away and undoing the ropes himself.

"You IDIOT," Romano screamed the second his gag was removed. Ah, so that was why it had been so quiet. He stood up and shook one fist angrily at Antonio, while he tried to rip a segment of his shirt off with the other hand, presumably to bandage the bleeding Spaniard. "How could you get s_hot_?"

Ludwig finished untying Feliciano's hands, though he had his head turned away to watch Romano and Antonio. He was surprised when two arms threw themselves around his neck, squeezing tight.

"Thank you," Feliciano sobbed. Ludwig disentangled himself and stood up, holding out a hand to the Italian.

"I didn't do anything, Antonio's the real hero."

"But you came anyways, even though Romano yelled at you." Feliciano smiled. "Thank you."

"Y-You're welcome." Ludwig felt a little awkward under Feliciano's worshipping gaze and moved his own to fall on something else—which was when he saw the van.

"_Gott sei Dank_!" Ludwig cried. He'd never been so happy to see a vehicle in his life. "Hurry, get in the van."

He ushered Feliciano to the van and was moving to help Romano with Antonio when a low groan caught his ear. He looked down and saw Alfonso rolling around, a minor graze on his arm. The man was _crying_. Ludwig shook his head at how pathetic the man was.

"What's going to happen to him?" A voice came from behind him. Ludwig turned and saw Feliciano.

"The police are on their way. But right now, we need to get Antonio to a hospital."

Feliciano nodded and moved to grab Antonio's other arm to help him into the back of the van. Ludwig got into the driver's seat while Feliciano climbed into the passenger side. Romano stayed in the back with Antonio, pressing the torn shirt to the wound to soak up some of the blood.

There was a lot of it, but Antonio was still conscious—and talking.

"My bike!" He protested as he realized they were driving away from it.

"We'll pick it up from the police later, but first you need some stitches."

"Oh," Antonio said. "What happened?"

"You were there," Feliciano said. "You saved us!"

"You _shot_ someone," Romano cried from the backseat. "With a _gun_. Where did you get that?"

"Yes," Antonio laughed weakly. "But forgive me if I explain a little later, Romano. Ow."

"_Idiota_," Romano said, pressing his shirt against the wound a little harder. "Can't you drive faster, potato-head? _Damn_, Veneziano should have driven."

Ludwig clenched his teeth but followed Romano's request anyways; he didn't want Antonio to die anymore than the Italian did.

When they arrived at the hospital, they sent Romano up to the emergency room with Antonio immediately. Someone met them with a gurney about halfway to take Antonio to surgery, and it took at least three nurses to restrain Romano from following. Instead, the three of them were sent to a waiting room, though Romano had to be escorted out of the hospital for "disturbing the peace", presumably for saying some rather vulgar things in his native language.

Not that Ludwig understood any of it, but by observing the size of the wince that Feliciano would give, he could infer that it was some pretty intense stuff.

After the waiting room quieted, Ludwig explained some things to Feliciano—including Antonio's real job and how Alfonso had been behind the mysterious loss of money.

"Why would he kidnap us, though?"

Ludwig had been thinking about this a lot. "He was upset when I got called here, I think. Nervous that I would figure it out. And also, the burglary was a big problem."

"He wasn't behind that?"

"You were the one who said they caught the guy, right? He knew that you would get more suspicious once you continued losing money even after the robbery. And then you were going to close the restaurant, and he would have to start all over."

"I just…" Feliciano turned away, looking troubled.

"What is it, Feli—Venziano?" Ludwig asked, trying the nickname.

Feliciano smiled slightly, but he still looked anxious. "I… Romano and I always knew that Grandpa was involved in shady stuff, but he loved the restaurant. I don't think that Alfonso was doing this from the beginning—I can't believe that."

"Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he just got into some trouble recently. You're not…" Ludwig cleared his throat. "You're not… involved in this… this," he waved his hand ambiguously.

"No!" Feliciano said, thankfully catching on. "No, no… Romano didn't want in, and he certainly didn't want me involved."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a while. A doctor came out after a while and told them that Antonio would be fine, and they pointed him in Romano's direction.

A few minutes later, Romano sped past them, in the direction the doctor had come from. Ludwig shook his head, and Feliciano smiled.

"He was in love once, you know."

"Romano?" Ludwig shook his head. "I don't believe you."

"Mmhmm. She was older, and she thought of him only as a little brother. It broke his heart, I think. Antonio's good for him, though… he needs more friends, and he has such a hard time making them."

"I guess."

"I'm closing the restaurant."

Ludwig started, searching Feliciano's face. There was no hesitation, no trace of doubt.

"R-Really?" Ludwig asked, wincing at how weak he sounded.

"Yes. I'll talk to Lovino. We'll open again someday maybe, maybe soon. But I don't… I don't want to be there anymore."

"Why?"

Feliciano sighed. "I don't want to be ruled by my grandfather anymore. It's so silly—he's been dead for years, and all that time I've been doing what _he_ wanted, working at _his_ restaurant. I love cooking, but I want it to be my own… you know?"

Ludwig nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. My grandfather wanted both me and my brother to join the military—Gilbert certainly didn't want to, and I wanted to try college first. And then I found this job and… I never looked back."

"I wish I could do that."

"Better late than never, right?"

"I suppose. Ludwig…"

"Yes?"

"If we decide to do this—Romano and I, I mean—we'll need some help. With our finances, and stuff… I mean obviously we'll pay you! But—"

Ludwig laughed, long and loud, surprising both Feliciano and the lady sitting across from them. "Yes, Veneziano. I'd love to."

Suddenly, Ludwig's phone buzzed.

"Hello?" He answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello, Mr. Ludwig. I just wanted to let you know the criminals have been apprehended."

"Thanks, Kiku. And there was a bike…"

"Oh, yes, that. I took the liberty of bringing it back to the hotel…" The Japanese man sounded surprisingly shamefaced.

"Um, that's okay. I'll let Antonio know. Oh, and Kiku?"

"Yes, Mr. Ludwig?"

"We'll be staying a little longer than planned, if that's alright with you."

He could practically _hear_ Kiku's smile over the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Ludwig. That is most agreeable with me."


	7. Epilogue

A/N: The Ending of Seta Moneta. Thanks for sticking around, everyone!

I've been threshing out this other idea for a companion piece to Seta Moneta. I may or may not be serious about it, depending on whether or not I get enough feedback from this story to know that people actually care about this 'verse.

Let me know what you think!

Seta Moneta

-Epilogue-

Approximately One Month Later

Feliciano breathed in the Italian air happily. "I think Romano likes it," he said.

"I like it," Ludwig said, glancing over at Feliciano. The Italian smiled brightly.

"I do too."

After a moment, Ludwig cleared his throat nervously. "You're not angry with me, are you?"

"For what?" Feliciano looked shocked.

"I just wish I could have stopped Alfonso earlier, so that you wouldn't have had to start from scratch…"

Feliciano shook his head. "Not at all! This was my decision, remember? And I'm already so grateful to you… I really think this is for the best."

"I hope so."

"So… I guess you're going to go back to Germany now, right?"

Ludwig nodded. "Yes. Italy is not the place for me."

"Oh…"

"But I'd love to come back and visit you. Visit Italy, that is…"

"Oh! Ve, maybe I'll visit Germany too!"

Ludwig laughed. "You don't have to do that. Besides, I'm sure you're going to be busy running your new restaurant."

"Yeah," Feliciano smiled again, looking up at the sign. "Ve, do you want some pasta before you go?"

Ludwig followed his gaze. "Yes, Veneziano. I'd love some."

As they stepped into the Vargas Caffe simultaneously, Feliciano began to sing.

_Seta moneta_  
_le donne di Gaeta_  
_che filano la seta_  
_la seta e la bambagia_...

Silk money,  
The women of Gaeta  
Who spin silk,  
Silk and cotton wool...


End file.
